Read Online Ivory Ghosts by Caitlin O'Connell - Free Book Online
Authors: Caitlin O'Connell
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there and a territorial
hum, hum, hum, hum, hum, snort.
All was fairly quiet except for the whine of mosquitoes and the rumbling of elephants.
I grabbed my backpack and climbed up on my roof rack. I watched the elephants in the radiant light, taking pictures, counting them, and, out of habit, taking notes on their behavior. I spotted an older female that was pushing young males away from her drinking spot at a deep elbow in the river.
I drew the ear notches, tusk shape, and tail-hair pattern of the largest one that appeared to be the matriarch, and estimated ages and sexes of the others, eyeballing back heights relative to hers. I noted other distinctive characteristic features within the group until another much larger group showed up at sunset, making it impossible to keep track.
The new group burst onto the scene with jubilant fanfare silhouetted against a rapidly sinking red sun. I stopped taking pictures and picked up my low-light binoculars to watch as they proceeded to engage in an elaborate ceremony—the older females roaring, rumbling, urinating, and defecating, while standing in a rigid line. They held their heads high with their trunks on the ground and ears flapping in this mysterious primal ritual. After a few minutes, they relaxed their shoulders and proceeded to exchange tactile greetings by placing their trunks in one another’s mouths, akin to a handshake.
The dust rose from the commotion of even more arrivals, and more roaring and bellowing, the calls seeming to attract more and more extended families to join in the party. The smell of elephant permeated the air—a combination of tanned leather, dung, and something musty sweet.
It was getting hard to see now with the sun completely gone and the heaviness of dusk setting in. It was just getting dark enough to experiment with the night-vision goggles Craig sent up with the camera, so I dug them out of the backpack and turned them on. The waxing moon was just a sliver in the sky, but any bit of light helped improve the resolution of the image that was generated by gathering ambient light and intensifying it.
Light-intensifying technology in night-vision gear had improved since I had used it several years back to track moose in Yellowstone. Either that or Craig had invested a substantial portion of his budget to get me top-of-the-line technology. In Kruger someone had gotten permission to use the same technology our military used in the Iraq War for rhino patrols. This device seemed just as good. It worked like goggles and as an attachment to my camera so I could take pictures at night.
There was a sudden bellow as a couple of young bulls burst through the bush just next to me, one of them almost colliding with the Bug and practically knocking me off my observation post as they hurried to the water. They roared so loudly it sounded as if they were being attacked by lions, or at least pursued by them. I assumed they were just excited about their reunion, but nevertheless I scanned the tall grass behind me. No imminent sign of predators.
But lions were expert at sneaking up on the unsuspecting and, having had a lioness in my vicinity on the way in, I no longer felt comfortable so low to the ground. I moved back inside the car as soon as the elephants settled down.
Most of the best elephant socializing happens just after sunset, which I rarely got to see in Kruger. Things were so regulated there that it was only on special occasions that I got to be out in a remote place like this after dark. It was hard to justify being out late to measure how much of a particular tree species the elephants were consuming. And rarely did those observations coincide with a large elephant greeting ceremony.
When the opening tumult of greeting the new relatives was over, the elephants again relaxed and began the sequence of elephantine “handshakes” by placing their trunks in others’ mouths. Little ones to older ones, sisters, aunts, cousins—they were all getting
hum, hum, hum, hum, hum, snort.
All was fairly quiet except for the whine of mosquitoes and the rumbling of elephants.
I grabbed my backpack and climbed up on my roof rack. I watched the elephants in the radiant light, taking pictures, counting them, and, out of habit, taking notes on their behavior. I spotted an older female that was pushing young males away from her drinking spot at a deep elbow in the river.
I drew the ear notches, tusk shape, and tail-hair pattern of the largest one that appeared to be the matriarch, and estimated ages and sexes of the others, eyeballing back heights relative to hers. I noted other distinctive characteristic features within the group until another much larger group showed up at sunset, making it impossible to keep track.
The new group burst onto the scene with jubilant fanfare silhouetted against a rapidly sinking red sun. I stopped taking pictures and picked up my low-light binoculars to watch as they proceeded to engage in an elaborate ceremony—the older females roaring, rumbling, urinating, and defecating, while standing in a rigid line. They held their heads high with their trunks on the ground and ears flapping in this mysterious primal ritual. After a few minutes, they relaxed their shoulders and proceeded to exchange tactile greetings by placing their trunks in one another’s mouths, akin to a handshake.
The dust rose from the commotion of even more arrivals, and more roaring and bellowing, the calls seeming to attract more and more extended families to join in the party. The smell of elephant permeated the air—a combination of tanned leather, dung, and something musty sweet.
It was getting hard to see now with the sun completely gone and the heaviness of dusk setting in. It was just getting dark enough to experiment with the night-vision goggles Craig sent up with the camera, so I dug them out of the backpack and turned them on. The waxing moon was just a sliver in the sky, but any bit of light helped improve the resolution of the image that was generated by gathering ambient light and intensifying it.
Light-intensifying technology in night-vision gear had improved since I had used it several years back to track moose in Yellowstone. Either that or Craig had invested a substantial portion of his budget to get me top-of-the-line technology. In Kruger someone had gotten permission to use the same technology our military used in the Iraq War for rhino patrols. This device seemed just as good. It worked like goggles and as an attachment to my camera so I could take pictures at night.
There was a sudden bellow as a couple of young bulls burst through the bush just next to me, one of them almost colliding with the Bug and practically knocking me off my observation post as they hurried to the water. They roared so loudly it sounded as if they were being attacked by lions, or at least pursued by them. I assumed they were just excited about their reunion, but nevertheless I scanned the tall grass behind me. No imminent sign of predators.
But lions were expert at sneaking up on the unsuspecting and, having had a lioness in my vicinity on the way in, I no longer felt comfortable so low to the ground. I moved back inside the car as soon as the elephants settled down.
Most of the best elephant socializing happens just after sunset, which I rarely got to see in Kruger. Things were so regulated there that it was only on special occasions that I got to be out in a remote place like this after dark. It was hard to justify being out late to measure how much of a particular tree species the elephants were consuming. And rarely did those observations coincide with a large elephant greeting ceremony.
When the opening tumult of greeting the new relatives was over, the elephants again relaxed and began the sequence of elephantine “handshakes” by placing their trunks in others’ mouths. Little ones to older ones, sisters, aunts, cousins—they were all getting
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